The Miserable Diaries
by Framboise
Summary: Yes, somebody did it: a vague attempt at VSD-inspired humour for which I am truly sorry. Implied slash which I hope is far too silly to be even mildly offensive.
1. The Miserable Diary of Enjolras

**The Miserable Diaries****  
  
**(Inspired, sort of, by http://home.nyu.edu/~amw243/diaries/ and http://www.wasps-nest.diaryland.com, but, obviously, fit to hold a candle to neither.   
Please don't be even remotely offended by this – I'm just being silly. More on the way, if this one doesn't get flamed too much…)  
  
This Miserable Diary belongs to: **Enjolras**

**14th September, 1827**  
University of Paris bit of a let-down in general. Students apparently think standing around on barricades waiting to be shot simply a game for rich young boys to play. Have spent Freshers Week writing abusive missives to swells who run this show.  
  
**15th September, 1827**  
Success! Have established band of loyal followers by standing on tables and singing. Cannot be entirely sure whether they are in it because they wholeheartedly believe in upholding the noble aims of the Republic or because they want to get into my pants, but at this stage too excited to care.   
  
**16th September, 1827**  
Turns out the unkempt absinthe-swigging one is definitely in it because he wants to get into my pants.  
  
**30th April, 1828**  
Courfeyrac turned up at Café Musain with new girlfriend called Mary Sue today. Was agog, also aghast, and about to go into big long tirade about being unaware there was a creature on earth called woman until Courfeyrac pointed out they weren't sleeping together. Only possible reason for this is that Mary Sue is actually of the male persuasion, but will take more than that to convince me.  
  
**1st May, 1828**  
Turns out Mary Sue is actually called Marius and is a boy after all. Took Combeferre upwards of ninety minutes to explain the difference. 

Smartarse.  
  
No progress on insurrection front. Irksome, as rather counting on being shot before end of study course as am blatantly never going to pass Finals.  
  
**14th October, 1829**  
Caught Marius perving on me while standing on table singing today. Told him he was no longer a child and didn't doubt he meant it well, but now there was a higher call and if he wanted to get into my pants there was a queue all the way to Poland.  
  
**15th October, 1829**  
Feuilly didn't turn up at Musain today. Later transpired he was most offended over Poland reference. May have to sleep with him in order to restore his faith in the cause.   
  
**2nd June, 1831**  
V. miffed. Courfeyrac told me he nearly had a restraining order put on Pontmercy for chasing some random hussy round the Luxembourg. Said I thought whole thing most improper as surely the only pants Marius wanted to get into were mine and perhaps my split ends were to blame? Courfeyrac called me a nancing narcissistic pretty-boy ponce. Was agog, also aghast; slapped Courfeyrac with handbag.  
  
May have to sleep with him as apology, as he is now in hospital with concussion.  
**  
28th May, 1832  
**Lamarque is dead! Lamarque! His death is the hour of fate!   
Hatching plans for insurrection post-haste. Is all terribly exciting much like Christmas only with more death.   
  
**28th May, 1832**  
Has only just occurred to me that getting shot may involve considerable mitigation of my ethereal beauty. Perhaps a surgical mask? Will ask Joly for medical advice although may have to sleep with him in return.  
  
**5th June, 1832**  
Lamarque's funeral. Am positively wetting self with excitement yet externally maintaining unflappable dignity and statue-like, er, stature. Am calm, oh yes, am calm.  
  
Ooops, drooling on page again.  
  
**Later**  
Marius asleep on Courfeyrac's floor with all his clothes on in the middle of the afternoon. Doubtless my continued rebuffs of his advances have finally rendered him insane. May have to sleep with him before he gets shot, just for old times' sake.  
**  
Later still**  
Funeral quite sad. All the same, no excuse for Prouvaire blowing nose on tricolour sash – why couldn't he use one of the hankies he's always waving about like a big girl's blouse? Really, some people.  
  
**Even later**  
Mostly just standing around being pretty at the moment. Shot a bloke, did a speech, la la la.  
  
**6th June, 1832, v. early**  
Insurrection still awfully exciting but quite frankly disappointed at lack of interest from others. Combeferre conducting pre-emptive post-mortem on Joly; Courfeyrac and Bossuet sitting on upturned coach playing scissors, paper and stone; haven't seen Bahorel or Prouvaire since teatime yesterday.  
  
Really, expected more commitment from those two. Will be having strong words with them if find out they are boozing it up in nearest still-intact pub.  
  
**Later**  
Turns out Bahorel and Prouvaire have been dead all along. Ooops.  
**  
Even later**  
Bored, bored, bored. Everyone dead (even Joly despite walking about in Kevlar-reinforced barrel). Going to poke Grantaire awake and see if he still wants to get into my pants before he gets shot.  
**  
Later still  
**Turns out he does. Will sleep with him as soon as have heroically fended off National Guard. Will not take long, as likely to stun them into submission with marble-Apollo-like gorgeousness.  
  
**Ten minutes later**  
Oh, _shit._


	2. The Miserable Diary of Courfeyrac

**The Miserable Diaries**  
  
(Well! I was absolutely chuffed to bits with the response to the first one, so thank you all tremendously for having the sense not to take it seriously and get all uppity about it. Because I am an excessively badly-prioritised individual I hope to do this for the rest of the Friends of the ABC, probably, because I like them so much; and then possibly for some of the other characters should I feel sufficiently inspired (or bored). Hope you like this one, anyway. :o) )  
  
This Miserable Diary Belongs To: **Courfeyrac**  
  
**September 14th, 1827  
**University of Paris bit of a let-down in general. Have been here a whole week and only slept with fourteen girls. Have spent Freshers Week wondering whether the tenth one was actually a girl at all. Paris men **so** effeminate.  
  
**September 15th, 1827  
**Have met v. fit blond called Enjolras, perplexingly eager to be shot for sake of lofty ideals therefore spurns zillions of women who, post-rejection, would probably not say no. Consequently, definitely in my best interests to join in the fight that will give me the right to be free.   
  
**September 16th, 1827  
**Nerdy one called Combeferre suggested perhaps is actually Enjolras's pants I want to get into and am in denial about it. Am refusing to consider possibility since he is almost certainly right.   
  
Smartarse.  
  
**April 23rd, 1828  
**Found Bossuet talking to random confused-looking boy in street today. A bit worried for his safety with Bossuet around (Bossuet **so **creepy at times) so brought him home with me. Bless him, reminds me of myself when I was young and stupid.  
  
**April 30th, 1828  
**Marius rather disturbed after meeting rest of Les Amis, perhaps because Bossuet and Joly being even more coochy-coo than usual and Grantaire flagrantly groping Enjolras' leg under table. Jolly-hockey-sticks thigh-slapping comradely banter **so** transparent.  
  
**January 13th, 1829  
**Pre-revolutionary angst apparently rather getting to poor Prouvaire's fragile poetic soul as he keeps bursting into tears on Combeferre's shoulder. Rather suspect Combeferre of wanting to jump into bed with Prouvaire's fragile poetic soul, actually.  
  
Am I getting cynical?  
  
**August 3rd, 1830  
**Enjolras such a blond at times. Today went into big speech about the colour of the world changing day by day. I said how come you've been wearing the same waistcoat as long as I've known you then (red with gold braid **so** last season). He said anyone as pretty as he was could wear big filthy sack and still have everyone in Paris trying to get into his pants. Couldn't very well disagree.  
  
**October 25th, 1830  
**Marius has moved out in fit of Bonapartist pique after annoying the crap out of Enjolras with his ill-considered political hoopla. Marius **so** diva-ish. Almost certain it is all a cover and he's actually moved in with Enjolras.  
  
Am definitely getting cynical.  
  
**May 19th, 1831  
**Have caught Marius in the Jardin du Luxembourg carrying a pair of binoculars crouching behind a bush swathed in several branches and with a bird's nest on his head for the sixth time this week. Think something v. suspicious may be going on.  
  
**June 1st, 1831  
**Called police re: Marius turning into psychopath. Talked to slightly grumpy and blatantly insane bloke with v. impressive sideburns for thirty seconds before he accused me of being an ex-convict from Toulon. Swore innocence but he told me he'd heard such protestations every day for twenty years and to save my breath and save my tears. V. unprofessional - would report him to his superiors but think he may be the only policeman in France.   
  
**December 23rd, 1831  
**Marius returned saying he'd come to sleep with me after a run-in with a slightly grumpy and blatantly insane bloke with v. impressive sideburns who'd insisted he was an ex-convict from Toulon then called him a dolt of a lawyer. French police **so** obsessive.  
  
**June 2nd, 1832  
**Oooooooo insurrection! And we all thought it was simply a game for Rich Young Boys ™ to play!  
  
**June 3rd, 1832  
**Enjolras no longer speaking to me after filched his big red flag and ran round using it as a cape pretending to be the Phantom of the Opera. Enjolras **so** childish at times.  
  
**June 5th, 1832  
**V. bizarre. Accosted by strange girl dressed as boy looking for Marius. Wonder whether _he_ has run off with _her_ clothes as was never quite sure about Marius. Paris youth **so** silly re: self-conscious reluctance to accept help from gender-confusion support groups.  
  
**Later  
**Turns out there really is only one policeman in the whole of France. Have v. sensibly tied him to a post, and am entertaining self by setting fire to his sideburns every time he says "tell me quickly what's the story". Suspect this does however irritate him rather less than the confiscation of his snuff supplies.  
  
**Later still**  
Bahorel rather less than alive. Guns **so** dangerous.  
  
**Later still  
**Ooooops. Prouvaire shot while Enjolras and Combeferre busy spanking each other with carbines. Carbine-spanking wrong on **so** many levels, plus, Prouvaire quite a bit dead.   
  
Bummer.  
  
**June 6th, 1832  
**Bloody demises left right and centre. Wondering whether whole revolution merely an excuse to die in one another's arms. Rather losing enthusiasm with whole project - self-sacrificial homoerotic lunacy **so** tedious.  
  
**Later  
**Ooops, been shot. V. careless. Hope Marius turns up soon, as dying to swear undying love to him before bleeding to death melodramatically all over pavement.


	3. The Miserable Diary of L'Aigle de Meaux

Forgive me for this instalment (I needed something to distract me from imminent degree failure) and as always thank you all so much for the encouragement: you make a very stressed student very happy. ;o) Evidently I was too pleased with the joke for September 25th to bother making the rest of it funny - hope you enjoy it anyway.  
  
This Miserable Diary Belongs To: **L'Aigle de Meaux** (or whatever you want to call him)  
  
_(Dedicated to Bossuet's biggest fan Grayswandir, should she ever happen to stumble upon this…)_  
  
**September 14th, 1827**  
University of Paris bit of a let-down in general. Still, cannot complain too much as strictly speaking lucky to be alive after being run over fourteen times since getting here. Consequently have spent Freshers Week on crutches, worth it for comic effect alone really.  
  
**September 15th, 1827**  
Have met rather spiffy-looking blond revolutionary who wrote "Will you join in my crusade" on my plaster cast. Think this may be a good idea, as may acquire entire band of insurgents willing to hold my hand when crossing roads.  
  
Plus, would not mind getting into aforementioned blond revolutionary's pants.  
  
**September 25th, 1827**  
Joy, exquisite rapture, etc etc etc. Am head-over-sprained-ankles in love with hypochondriac medical student with disproportionate number of Ls in his name. He said "I like the way you grow your hair", I said "I like the way you always sneeze". Am smitten.  
  
**December 25th, 1827**  
Burnt entire house down attempting to set Christmas pudding on fire. V. impressive effect, but not for the congenitally mal-coordinated. Does not state this on the label. May sue once in possession of law degree.  
  
On the bright side, now have perfectly acceptable excuse for shacking up with Joly.   
  
**December 26th, 1827**  
Have Joly's flu. However, have not yet died in fit of Enjolras-inspired insurrectionist fervour, so not complaining.  
  
**April 18th, 1828**  
Chucked out of law school most unceremoniously. Fortunate really as would never have made v. good lawyer what with being a Harbinger of Doom and all. Will apply for nice safe study course instead e.g. pyrotechnics.   
  
**April 23rd, 1828**  
Met random confused-looking boy while standing around on street corner waiting for someone to help me cross the road. Thought it may have been worth trying to get into his pants but Courfeyrac seems to have got there first. Joly pointed out he was never mine to lose so why regret what could not be. Hmph.  
  
Suspect Joly would die of a broken heart if I left him anyway. Either that or gastroenteritis; hard to tell with Joly.  
  
**June 3rd, 1831**   
Arrested on suspicion of being suspicious by grumpy and flagrantly insane bloke with v. impressive sideburns while buying zoom-lens Polaroid camera for Marius. (Some v. odd stalker type people hanging round the J de L lately apparently.) Appreciate necessity of increased security but could ideally do without consequent fortnight in prison.  
**  
August 23rd, 1831**  
Rather thought someone would have bailed me out by now. Still, have not lost/broken/accidentally set fire to anything at all for entire month. Am terribly proud.  
  
**December 12th, 1831**  
Have noticed disturbing habit Grantaire has of slumping over tables looking v. unhealthy indeed. One of Joly's myriad maladies? Sincerely hope Grantaire has not been sleeping with Joly as well, as technically means I would be sleeping with Grantaire by association.   
  
Not sure even I would survive that. Although, not dead so far, so who knows?  
  
**June 3rd. 1832**  
Lamarque dead. Evidently even more unlucky than me, since despite quite astonishing amounts of pre-revolution shenanigans am shockingly not yet dead.  
  
**June 4th, 1832**  
Amazed. Still not dead. Only a matter of time, according to Joly. Am worried about his hay fever, will undoubtedly get him before the carbines do.  
  
**Later**  
Still not dead. Beginning to entertain possibility we may all actually be immortal.  
  
**Later still**  
Combeferre suggested lack of death due less to putative immortality than to the fact that we've done absolutely diddly-squit so far.  
  
Smartarse.  
  
**June 5th, 1832**  
Not dead but feeling v. squishy about Joly. Do not like to face fact that being drugged up to the eyeballs on Lemsip will probably not protect him against gunfire.   
  
Although, may give it a go myself on reaching scared shitless status.  
_  
_**Ten minutes later**  
Have third degree burns over numerous body parts after accident with boiling Lemsip. May tell Enjolras was blown up by Marius in one of his fits of powder-keg masculinity: sympathy vote may be only possible route into his pants this late in the game.  
_  
_**Later still**  
V. bored. Courfeyrac running round pinching random people's bottoms; Enjolras repeating "have faith in yourselves and don't be afraid" on loop even though only threat to barricade so far has been a low-flying pigeon.  
  
Needless to say, have been scrubbing pigeon poo out of tricolour sash for last ten minutes.  
  
**Later still**  
Cannot stand any more of Prouvaire's poetry. Off for mid-insurrection carbine-spanking sesh with Joly.  
  
**Even later**  
Wondering how best to tell Enjolras have broken a) carbine and b) Joly's left leg. Certainly not going to get into his pants at this rate.  
  
On the plus side, still not dead. Amazing!  
  
**June 6th, 1832  
**Have bayonet through indeterminate vital organ. Cannot really complain as will die with considerably more dignity than Joly who, on seeing aforementioned bayonet wound, turned green, screamed like a thirteen-year-old girl, and fainted into Enjolras' arms.  
  
Some people have all the luck.


	4. The Miserable Diary of Combeferre

Poor, poor Combeferre; I don't know why I've made him quite so, well, pervy. You may blame the dubious influence of my friends, the pressure of Finals, and the idea that it's always the ones you least suspect. ;o) (I love him really, honestly I do…)  
  
Thanks again for the continued support – I'd have given up looooooooooong ago without it, and it makes me feel slightly less insane for writing this sort of drivel…! Hope you like this one.  
  
This Miserable Diary Belongs To: **Combeferre**  
  
**September 14th, 1827**  
University of Paris bit of a let-down on the whole. Tried to make friends by challenging people to game of Scrabble but just got called geeky four-eyed nerdy git. Consequently have spent all of Freshers Week in room drawing silkworm moths from memory.  
  
**September 15th, 1827**  
Have met distressingly attractive young blond revolutionary full of well-intentioned but obviously misplaced republican ardour, since everyone here thinks insurrection simply a game for rich young boys to play.   
  
Incidentally, so is croquet. And rugby. And the Eton Wall Game. Was never very good at any of them – so much for private education.  
  
**Later**  
Am genius. Blond revolutionary, although terribly pretty, evidently none too bright, so am entertaining possibility of lucrative sideline doing his homework for him in return for, ahem, favours. Heh.  
  
**May 28th, 1828**  
Have met Courfeyrac's friend Marius, nice young lawyer blatantly several frogs' legs short of picnic. Therefore assuming his asking Enjolras whether beyond the barricade there was a world of PVC is the result of harmless stupidity rather than penchant for wearing cling-film.   
  
Bummer.  
  
**June 13th, 1829**  
Prouvaire a bit panicky about possibility of dying already and asked me to drink with him to days gone by. Sadly turned out to be quite literal and not a euphemism for anything more interesting. Getting fed up of being requisite shoulder to cry on (not least because this phrase ends on a preposition and is therefore grammatically incorrect) and wonder if others regard me as camp counsellor of sorts.  
  
Pointed this out to Courfeyrac who just said Prouvaire would be even camper counsellor.   
  
**September 3rd, 1830**  
Have been stood up by Enjolras who claims he is washing hair. Huh. Am agog, may progress to aghast if situation does not improve.  
  
**Later**  
Had dramatic role-reversal and cried on Feuilly's shoulder about Enjolras hair-washing debacle so he offered to sleep with me instead. V. good of him, really, but have done sod all for weeks what with doing Enjolras' homework, therefore terribly important that I get this essay finished first.  
  
**September 4th, 1830**  
Received sharp reprimand from professor re: essay. Should not really be surprised, as was only three sentences long.  
  
**June 5th, 1831**  
Courfeyrac and Marius both involved in scandalous police call-out in last few days. Dying to get involved as policeman, despite being evidently quite insane with all manner of issues regarding snuff, sideburns and ex-convicts from Toulon, almost certainly possesses handcuffs. Somewhat doubt they are pink and fluffy but beggars cannot be choosers so to speak.  
  
**June 6th, 1831**  
Am genius. Only have to pretend to be now-saintly ex-bishop-burgling convict from Toulon and snuff-snorting policeman will be proverbial putty in my hands.  
  
**June 8th, 1831**  
Have procured white wig and halo, now working on troubled "he's a convict from the chain gang, he's been ten years on the run" expression.  
  
Am really going to enjoy getting skin branded. Ooooh.  
  
**June 14th, 1831**  
Burst into Café Musain shouting "Who am I?", but all just blinked and muttered something that sounded like "geeky four-eyed nerdy git". Could have at least acted agog and/or aghast.  
  
**June 3rd, 1832**  
Worried insurrection may actually happen now. Less miffed by almost certain death than by obligation to call everyone "citizen" instead of "shit-for-brains".  
  
**June 5th, 1832**  
Marius refusing to join in with funeral as engaged in terrific sulking fit. Now_ not _the time for such ridiculously juvenile behaviour. Will recommend Enjolras gives him thorough glaring if he survives.  
  
**Later**  
Have captured snuff-snorting policeman and tied him to post. V. jealous. Going to sulk till Enjolras gives in and ties me up too.  
  
**Later still**  
Still sulking.  
  
**Even later**  
Still sulking.  
  
**Later**  
Think being spanked with carbine might be more fun than being tied up anyway. Revolution will have to do without its logic _and_ its philosophy for a while.  
  
As an aside, haven't seen Prouvaire for ages. Worried Courfeyrac might have tied his shoelaces together. Hope he hasn't ended up in enemy clutches about to be executed by firing squad or anything like that.  
  
**Five minutes later  
**Oops. Well, if you can't work out which side of barricade you're supposed to be on, you've got it coming to you, really.  
  
**June 6th, 1832**  
All starting to look slightly grim now. Tried to boost morale by pointing out that ninety-two point six per cent of barricade deaths occur as direct result of insurgents being too busy singing about wine of friendship not running dry to notice enemy cannonball going straight for back of head.  
  
Everyone still alive – in perfect unison and exactly as in a musical – turned round and yelled "Smartarse!".  
**  
Later**  
Screw all this - off to corrupt young Pontmercy with all manner of heinously deviant practices that would almost certainly get me arrested if only policeman in France hadn't been shot ages ago.  
  
The good must be innocent, my arse.


	5. The Miserable Diary of Jean Prouvaire

…And you thought I'd forgotten about them, didn't you…?! This instalment owes acknowledgements to Shelley, Byron, Keats, Wordsworth, Shakespeare and, er, Eminem - yes, I know Jehan read _French_ poetry, but my knowledge of Baudelaire and Villon consists solely of what I've been told by French literature students I was trying to chat up. :oP   
  


This Miserable Diary Belongs To: **Jean "Jehan" Prouvaire**  
  
**September 14th, 1827  
**University of Paris bit of a let-down in general. Parisian ladies apparently far keener to sleep with me than listen to me recite_ Prometheus Unbound_. Have spent Freshers Week weeping into pot of flowers and sighing theatrically. Woe is me.  
  
**September 15th, 1827**  
Have met young deity-esque flaxen-haired revolutionary who walks in beauty like the night of cloudless climes and starry skies, with high-minded intentions to get us all shot. Cannot be arsed to fall head over heels in love as have done that six times already this week, but would not mind getting into his pants in return for writing elegiac speeches about the blood of angry men.   
  
**October 5th, 1827  
**Noticed the follicularly-challenged one and the delicately-constitutioned one feeling each other up under the table at Café Musain last night. Went all misty-eyed – all this comradely band-of-brothers bonding so terribly moving. Feel a rondeau coming on.  
  
**February 19th, 1828  
**Have noticed Combeferre being especially touchy-feely recently. Thought this v. sweet and comradely and was just about to dedicate villanelle to him when he asked me whether I was responsible for writing that line about there being a world of PVC beyond the barricade. Later transpired as simple misapprehension on Marius' part. Such pervyness in one so young! I blame Courfeyrac.  
  
**February 21st, 1828  
**Rather wish I hadn't denied authorship of PVC line as Combeferre looking terribly disappointed. Despite what Enjolras says, think we should care about his lonely soul; cannot really be arsed to strive towards larger goal anyway.   
  
**March 3rd, 1828**  
My heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains my sense as though of hemlock I had drunk: potted geraniums wilting. Woe is me.  
  
**May 16th, 1829**  
Played flute to rapturous applause at Musain but was v. confused when Combeferre later asked whether I'd mind spanking him with it. He claimed it was simply a game for Rich Young Boys to play. Cannot recall this happening at _my_ school – must be one of those arts/science divide things.  
  
**November 24th, 1829**  
Caught Grantaire looking somewhat lasciviously at Enjolras' bottom while doing his singing-on-a-table routine. Queried him about it with all tact and discretion possible; he merely pointed at aforementioned bottom and said it was better than an o-per-a.  
  
**April 14th, 1830**  
Finding it near-impossible to remain strong in face of possibility of geraniums dying. Have composed endless cathartic Spenserian stanzas reflecting on fragility of life which Combeferre suggests I recite while sitting on his knee wearing only a laurel wreath. Terribly sweet really. Woe is me, all the same.  
  
**April 15th, 1830**  
Tied to chair with cravat by Combeferre today after half-arsed attempt to fling self melodramatically into Seine over geranium tragedy. After an hour he decided I was no longer danger to self and suggested I tie him up instead. Least I could do, really.  
  
**April 28th, 1831  
**Enjolras kept asking if anyone noticed anything different about him today. Turns out he's had his hair feathered. Really cannot believe Enjolras would go to such lengths just because Marius is apparently showing interest in a girl – _I'm_ supposed to be the pansy round here, after all.  
  
**April 30th, 1831  
**Have had blond highlights put in my hair. Enjolras still infinitely prettier than me but does not write poetry so still have camp-as-a-row-of-tents market well and truly cornered. Shall I compare me to a summer's day? I art more lovely and more effeminate.  
  
**June 14th, 1831**  
Combeferre pacing about in white wig and halo muttering something about how they chained him and left him for dead just for stealing a mouthful of bread. Has obviously gone insane, but is rhyming so well it seems a shame to dissuade him.  
  
Smartarse.  
  
**June 5th, 1832  
**Wandered lonely as a cloud that floats on high o'er vales and hills when all at once I saw a crowd, a host of people bombing down Rue de la Chanvrerie.  
  
Oooo, had forgotten about Lamarque's funeral plus subsequent insurrection. Feel much sighing and/or eulogising about comradely band-of-brothers carbine-spanking coming on.  
  
**Later**  
Overheard Combeferre ask Enjolras if he could use his tricolour sash to tie Fearless Leader to his bedposts and am glad he is getting back into the spirit of things after that "I'm Jean Valjean, yes I'm the real Valjean, all the other Jean Valjeans are just imitating" debacle.  
  
**Later**  
Immensely concerned about health of geraniums in my absence. Will the world remember them when they fall? Could it be their death means nothing at all? Woe is me.  
  
**Evening**  
Fled from barricade in tears after heartlessly apathetic reaction to poetry reading. Off to see if latest sonnet receives more appreciation from National Guard.  
  
**Later**  
Was given standing ovation by National Guard. Feel all warm and fuzzy. Am not quite sure what they meant when they asked me whether I could think of anything that rhymed with "firing squad" though.  
  
**One minute later**  
Oh, I get it. Tsk, some people just have no _poetry_ in their souls.  
  
  



	6. The Miserable Diary of Feuilly

Because I have been rather desperate for things to occupy my waking hours of late, I bring you a) Feuilly's Miserable Diary and b) yes, The Miserable Diaries' very own website – the address is in my profile - with thanks to Thalia for the idea (and for being v. cool in general). Nothing there you won't find here, apart from a few graphics, but it's much prettier. And pink.   
  
Thanks muchly as always. You guys rock. :o)  
  
This Miserable Diary Belongs To: **Feuilly**  
  
**September 14th, 1827**  
These bloody students on our streets, here they come slumming once again; our Eponine would kiss their – oh arse, wrong line.   
  
**September 15th, 1827**  
Accosted during tea break by dashing young blond revolutionary blatantly bunking off school trying to rope unusually gullible martyr-types into overthrowing government. Have long suspected Paris students of being lazy bunch of hedonistic wasters who think they can get out of taking Finals by dying heroically on barricade and absolutely will not fall for it. Nope nope nope.  
  
**Five minutes later**  
Wouldn't mind getting into his pants though.  
  
**Five minutes later**  
I am _so_ there.  
  
**September 21st, 1827**  
Went to Café Musain to meet other members of so-called Friends of the ABC. Rather surprised to discover university students only know first three letters of alphabet. Evidently haven't missed much in education department.  
  
**January 3rd, 1828**  
Voiced concern re: ignorance of rest of alphabet to group. Everyone agog, some even aghast. Apparently is pun on…something.  
  
**March 21st 1828**  
Courfeyrac still giggling most immaturely at me over alphabet comment. Will be sticking fans where sun doesn't shine if he's not v. careful.  
  
**April 30th, 1828**  
Courfeyrac's new friend Marius got ABC reference, despite being far from fruitiest flapjack in fridge. Pointed this out to Combeferre who said my alliteration was really quite impressive for someone who hadn't been to school.   
  
Smartarse.  
  
**May 3rd, 1829**  
On self-improvement kick - jogged to Musain this evening listening to _Teach Yourself Latin_ cassette on headphones. Tracksuit something of a talking point; Enjolras said I could at least wear a tricolour one, Grantaire asked Enjolras why _he_ never wore Lycra, Enjolras said kinky underwear simply a game for rich young boys to play.  
  
Could swear I caught Combeferre blushing guiltily at that. V. suspicious.  
  
**May 6th, 1829**  
Combeferre claims was merely blushing at Joly's tongue being rammed half-way down Bossuet's trachea. Admittedly, can quite see his point.  
  
**February 15th, 1830**  
According to Courfeyrac, cannot expect to be taken seriously in trainers unless Reebok ones. Called him lard-arsed tax-dodging layabout and said some of us actually had to work for a living rather than sponging astronomical student loan off swells who run this show. Then went into rant about Poland, just because.  
  
Courfeyrac said I, like, **so** had issues. Girlfriend.  
  
**August 18th, 1831**  
Talked into creative writing classes by Prouvaire as replacement for university education. Was naturally v. excited on hearing about possibility of writing fan fiction till Combeferre said no, not _my_ sort of fans, and he doubted I'd have any of the other variety.  
  
Will be sticking fans where sun doesn't shine if he isn't v. careful too.  
  
**February 3rd, 1832**  
Have been doing Pilates as part of Self-Improvement Thing. Enjolras v. huffy when told about this and said if anyone was going to do Pylades round here it was him. Rather lamenting lack of Classics knowledge, as Courfeyrac literally wet himself laughing.   
  
**June 3rd, 1832**  
At Rue de Bac they're straining at the leash, apparently. Sounds v. kinky - will ask Combeferre to elaborate.  
  
**June 5th, 1832**  
Marius rumoured to have forgotten to get out of bed for insurrection. At least proves Courfeyrac not sleeping with him.  
  
Although, no sign of Joly, Bossuet or Grantaire either…  
  
Oooh. Have v. disturbing mental image now.  
  
**Later **  
Enjolras repeatedly shouting "Each man to his duty and don't be afraid!" while rearranging his hair in Mère Hucheloup's mirror.   
  
Have no idea why he got it feathered – does not flatter his jawline at all.   
  
**Later still**  
Would still do him, though, obviously.  
  
**Later still**  
Prouvaire's sonnet v. crap. Told him rhyme scheme quite transparently incorrect only to receive tearful squeaking reprove that "it's bloody _Petrarchan_, you illiterate fan-waving Pole-obsessed working-class guttersnipe".  
  
Do not think location of where I will be sticking fan even needs mentioning.  
  
**V. early, June 6th, 1832**  
Spent last two hours engraving "Jean Prouvaire is a big gay bear" on wall of house facing Corinth. Told to cross it out and write something more patriotic by Enjolras in big marble-lover-of-liberty huff. Went for "Feuilly woz ere – go Poland" instead. Feel v. saintly.  
  
**Later**  
Been shot. Bastards. Enjolras said he'd never have let me get in his pants anyway – we were Poles apart. Ha bloody _ha_.  
  
Unfortunately, cannot this time threaten to stick fan where sun doesn't shine, as sun does actually shine out of his arse.


End file.
